Quickie Mate
by silversurf4
Summary: Remember that episode with the online dating service created by the two stoners? What if they decided to try it?
1. Chapter 1

It was stupid right? A mate in a minute? And yet….

"What the hell…" Dani Reese muttered. It wasn't like dating was conventional for her anymore _. Had it ever been?_ She mostly sport fucked. And that? ….. just wasn't getting the job done anymore.

 _Was it possible to be completely anonymously honest and find some miracle match?_

She was skeptical, but she didn't have to do anything about it. She could just look. She stared at the laptop and examined the categories. First you had to enter data about yourself. _Of course you did._

 **Name?** No way she was using her real one. She wondered if anyone one did. She tried to strike a balance between sex kitten and desperate. She decided to use her mother's heritage and typed in a Persian name from her mother's family. Sameen Saif. _There…_ she hit enter. _Let's see what your search engine designed by desperate college white boys makes of that._

The physical stuff was easy. Height, check. Weight, check. **Body type?** Hmmm…. she checked both athletic and curvy. She considered herself fit, but still womanly. She wondered briefly if others did. If the looks she got were any indication, then yes.

 **Orientation?** "Uh….decidedly straight," she talked to the computer or herself. Why that woman had kissed her was beyond her imagination. She wondered briefly, "do I give off a gay vibe?" Then shook her head, no.

 **Personality style?** _Was "in your face" a choice_? She scanned the list. "Direct," she read. "That's me," she confirmed with a check.

 **Clothing style?** _Why was that even a thing?_ _Guys_ …. She scanned the list and selected "comfortable yet classy." She doubted it was entirely accurate, but grunge, punk, sophisticated, couture didn't fit at all.

 **What do you want in a man** _?_ What a wide open question.

It meant so very many things. But the physical part was comprised of all the same questions she'd just answered about herself. Age, height and weight ranges. She liked the idea of a tall, trim man who was older than her, more experienced perhaps. _Less interested in how many women he could bed and more interested in finding the right one_.

 **Sex Positions Preferred?** _Now this was getting interesting_ , she thought. She checked several she'd tried and a few she'd always wanted to. It was just for fun anyway, she reasoned.

 **Do you like to experiment?** The yes or no boxes seemed too limiting so she typed into the blank box below, "with someone I trust." _Who was she kidding? She trusted no one – except possibly Crews._ _Okay, that was a weird thought._

She didn't normally associate Crews with sex, but at that party he seemed more than mildly uncomfortable. She was so preoccupied watching him, his shock and dismay; that the brunette "wife" of one the stoners had been able to kiss her. It wasn't unpleasant, but Crews reaction was one of amusement coupled with mild excitement. He wasn't uncomfortable just then; instead he seemed curious. That was not a conversation she wanted to have. The "hey, did you just get turned on when that chick kissed me" thing, so they hurried off, hurtling past their reactions and into an arrest. She refocused on the questionnaire.

There were the obligatory series of weird questions about the type and importance of things that didn't matter to her. **Religion? Politics? Pets? Kids?** Okay, that last one might be a deal breaker, but she checked "none now and unsure about the future." **Smoking? Drinking? Drugs?** Those had to all be no. She couldn't have the temptation. She was an addict. Once an addict, always an addict.

 **What's most important to you?** There were character traits ranging from physical beauty to health, wealth, virility and intangibles. That was where this experiment struck home for her. She examined them closely and concluded that honesty, humor and trust were her top three.

Showtime. There was a small red button at the bottom that assure her QuickieMate could calculate her suitability and give her the candidates matching her based on a mathematic formulaic assessment of her answers and cross matched with her prospective mate's expectations. It all sounded very technical and impossible for the two boneheads she and Crews had interviewed – twice.

 _What the hell?_ She pressed the button and waited.

As the spinning color wheel of death churned in the background, a series of disclaimers popped up. Quickie Mate recommends you meet your mate in a public place. Not all matches will last. The top ten candidates returned are based on an assessment of your honest responses. If you weren't honest, your match might not meet your expectations…..yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. So the stoners had a lawyer who knew all the right things to protect their venture. _What had Cheech and Chong put into their search engine? Hopelessly nerdy, stoners with new money seek rich money grubbing hot girls?_

Then suddenly the wheel was gone, a bell chimed and ten names appeared. None were names she knew. _Thank God._ She clicked on the first and explored his profile. Then she drilled down into each name looking for Mr. Right….or Mr. Right Now.

The one she found most interesting was an older man who described himself as "long and lean, calm and content and a jeans and t-shirt" guy. That seemed unpretentious. He was about ten to twelve years older than her. He didn't drink, didn't smoke and instead of selecting "hot rack, tight ass or fucks like a gymnast" as most important, he'd selected as an ideal mate someone honest, humorous, loyal and trustworthy. The name attached to the profile read. Donovan Lewis….

 _Just who the hell are you Donovan Lewis? And where have you been all of my life?_ She'd check him out tomorrow at work. Run him for wants and warrants, arrests, traffic tickets, maybe pull a DMV photo…Being a cop had some perks, not many, but this she could do. She sure as hell wasn't writing him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crews POV**

Charlie pulled on the longneck bottle. It gurgled in his throat. The slightly acidic taste tinged with lime was losing its taste now that he was pleasantly buzzed. He was doing "research" for the case. – a mate in a minute.

"Wonder if that works? He talked to himself freely.

Those two stoners had some pretty nice wives. Pretty, friendly, frisky, adventurous. He chuckled remembering the look on Reese's face when one grabbed her by the lapels and lip locked her. Man, what he wouldn't have given to be that woman just then. Kissing Reese had to be pretty exciting AND she hadn't slapped the woman. She would have knocked him into next week.

Wait. _Was Reese possibly gay?_ He shook his head, vigorously "no…definitely not, not Reese. She's too hot." He commented to no one in particular.

He let that thought go and started pecking at the keyboard, building a fake profile. **Name?** Hmmmm…. Something fake, but real sounding….Donovan something or something Donovan. Donovan Lewis. He decided on that one.

 **Age, height, weight** , nothing to lie about there. **Body type?** Long and lean, he chose. **Orientation?** He expected two choices, but found about twenty. Things had changed a lot while he'd been away. "Uh….girls. I like girls." He mumbled to no one in particular. He checked "hetero."

 **Personality style?** "Calm and content," he chose. Zen wasn't an option.

 **Clothing style?** They didn't distinguish on duty or off, so he considered what he'd wear if he didn't have to dress for the part. "Jeans and t-shirts" he decided. It was what he wore most off duty. He just wasn't part of the Dockers tribe that Ted belonged to.

 **What do you want in a woman?** _What didn't he want?_ He thought.

There was a wide selection of age, races, height and weight ranges. He checked younger than him, but not a child. He felt like those twelve years he missed made him more of a novice than other men his age. He checked fit and curvy, _like Reese_ he thought.

 **Sex Positions Preferred?** He checked the ones he knew. Since there weren't any pictures he wasn't so sure about others.

 **Do you like to experiment?** The little cursor blinked above the answers "yes or no", but a white box beckoned below inviting a response that was neither yes nor no. He typed in "only with someone I trust."

Then there were a series of weird questions about the type and importance of things that didn't matter. **Religion? Politics? Pets? Kids?** "Don't care, don't care, don't care," he muttered checking still more blue boxes. Okay, that last one interested him. He left the door open checking "none now and unsure about the future."

 **Smoking? Drinking? Drugs?** _No,_ _maybe_ …he thought. A couple drinks made it easier to be around pretty girls. It toned down his insecurity. He took another pull on the beer bottle and reconsidered concluding that if there were kids in his future; liquor probably wasn't. He answered no.

 **What quality or qualities are most important to you?** This part was easy for him. Someone he could trust, who was honest with themselves and him and that had a sense of humor. His eyes slid past the gauges of attractiveness and wealth till he found the character traits. Scrutinizing the long list, he had no trouble winnowing it down to just three: _trust, loyalty humor and honesty_. He could have picked more, but he figured that anyone with those few traits possessed anything else he was looking for.

Pressing the little red button was easy. It required no thought. It didn't mean anything. He didn't have to act on it. A pretty kaleidoscope of color spun, behind it some algorithm was determining his mate, his fate. Not possible, he thought. That in a the blink of an eye, an inanimate object could find what thirty-eight years on the planet had failed to – a lasting love, someone to trust, his one, his everything.

He shut the lid of his laptop, plunging his kitchen into darkness and padded up the marble stairs to his soft bed where his dreams would form the faceless woman of his dreams. When he woke, the fleeting image was like that of the woman on the poster in the office of that gun lobby he visited with Seaver, subtly reminiscent of Reese. He shook it off. He thought about Reese because she was the person he saw most. He showered, dressed and drove to work, intent of working to find who killed Master Chan.


	3. Chapter 3

She was already at work already, furiously typing on her keyboard with a pencil clamped between her teeth and frown on her face.

Knowing Reese she'd be through her second cup of coffee now, he thought. His hunch proved correct. There was a smile in his voice as he commented quietly. "Try this. It'll taste better," and set a fresh Styrofoam cup before her.

She sniffed it curiously before tasting it and a tiny smile twisted the corner of her mouth as the caffeine hit her tongue. Reese tried never to express pleasure to him, but these days she was less guarded about it, more apt to show him that secret smile that hid in the corner of her mouth. That smile was something he coveted and worked hard for.

He slid into his chair and fished an apple from his pocket. His hand brushed against his mobile phone, which was buzzing insistently. He checked the screen and found several messages from Quickiemate. Apparently, it had found his match – several of them. He shook his head and dropped the phone back in his pocket. Not even remotely curious. _No one on the internet held the interest for him that his dark, twisted and tangled little partner did._ He bit into his apple, crunching loudly. She scowled, causing him to swallow hard and try to gauge her mood.

"Whatcha working on Reese?"

Reese looked at him annoyed. She carefully shut the folder and covered the paper she'd been scribbling on.

"I'm working the case, Crews," she lied.

 _Donovan Lewis, it appeared was an alias._ Despite several hours of devoted research, it would appear that he didn't exist. Of course, he was using an alias. _Why would anyone use their real name?_ She didn't.

"So…..that party…." Crews offered. She blushed, then ducked her head and hid from him. _Why do you have to be so coy? Don't you know that ties my stomach in knots_ he thought.

She was anxious to change the subject, to anything but her and the lip lock from the other night. She knew men and couldn't help but notice the amusement on Crews' face when the woman released her.

"Did you say you bought your wife a horse?" she deftly parried.

"Ex-wife," he reminded her pointedly. "Yeah, well she always said she wanted a pony and it was our anniversary," he smiled.

He had a mean streak; one Reese knew and kind of loved. She knew under all that Zen lay a nice thick layer of good old fashioned resentment and pain – just like it did under her gruff, unapproachable exterior. Jennifer Conniver could have had so much more, she could have had to moon and stars, had she just stayed true to the man sitting across from her at the moment being irritating- in his own endearing way. _She really needed to stop thinking that way about Crews,_ she reminded herself.

"Just remind me never to suggest I want something like that to you," her own wry smile twisted in the corner of her mouth. 'I don't have room for a gerbil in my place."

"You'd never ask for a pony," he continued their joke. "I suspect 300 or 400 horses is more your style….something fast, sleek and red."

"Hmmmm….That's not even funny Crews," she grabbed her jacket. "I'm not the one who changes fast cars like socks."

Just a moment before her witty repartee Reese showed him a glimmer of appreciation; he knew her – too well. _Where could the internet buzzing in his pocket possibly find anything like her?_

"Are you gonna answer your phone or do you just like that feeling of it buzzing in your pocket?" she pointedly asked.

"It buzzes kinda loud, huh?" he batted aside her barb and fished the offending item from his suit coat pocket. "It's messages, 17 of them at last count," he examined the list. _22 now; all from Quickie Mate._ He was beginning to regret his curiosity.

"Stalker?" Reese questioned as they headed to the elevator.

"No," he got tight lipped. Sharing this with Reese would result in embarrassment, which while he could endure, he'd rather not. "Just some message thing…" he was sufficiently vague. "I'll catch up," he turned and looked at his desk. "I forgot something."

"Whatever..." Reese said. She put on her trademark shades and stepped into the elevator. "Don't expect me to wait all day."

He trod back to their conjoined desks and opened his drawer. He put the phone in the drawer. It was going to embarrass him all day with the constant buzzing. He didn't really need it, he reasoned. The only person that he was likely to call was Reese and she was going to be with him all day.

On a hunch, he flipped open the folder on her desk. There staring him in the face was the name "Donovan Lewis" scribbled in Reese's handwriting, about nineteen times.

He felt faint, the room spun. He looked around to see if anyone noticed him having this "moment." He quickly closed the folder, then straightened it and turned on his heel and bolted up the stairs.

Dani Reese was looking into, dare say dreaming about, the moniker he'd made up on Quickie Mate last night. That wasn't coincidence, that was….what? Fate? _Damn…_. he swore softly under his breath. _What's the odds? Gotta be astronomical….that she'd even try it and then to find me – or fake me – that's just_ ….

"Just what?" she questioned annoyed. He'd made it to the parking garage in time to catch up with her.

"Haven't I told you that talking to yourself makes you seem crazy...crazier?"

"Reese, I….." he started full of courage and under the weight of her withering glare lost his nerve.

"Get in the car," she demanded. He did, he would. But the guilty knowledge would burn in him all day long. He wondered how he'd keep it under wraps, knowing that he must.


	4. Chapter 4

Crews stared out the window deep in thought.

"Are you okay?" Reese asked, then immediately regretted it. He was quiet, for once, and she'd just ruined it.

He swiveled in his seat and examined her. "What an odd question?" his face was screwed up in a weird expression.

"It's not an 'odd' question," she objected immediately.

"I would have thought you're appreciate the quiet," he mused smirking.

"I do," she sighed heavily. "You just never are," she noted, "...quiet." She qualified it least he launch into a commentary on how everyone just "is" and she'd be forced to boot him from the car.

"I just was," he argued merrily, "...quiet."

"Fine," Reese pouted. "Forget I asked."

She was pissed now, so naturally he had to provoke her.

"I was thinking about something Eric Molina said to me," he focused out the window, looking out, but not at anything in particular.

She wouldn't ask him, but he continued undeterred.

"He said I was searching for something that was an illusion, something that wasn't there," he sounded far away. "Do you think that's true?"

She didn't answer. He glanced her way but couldn't divine if her lack of response was due the lack of an answer, or her ire. Just when he was certain she wouldn't answer, she did.

"You got that look," she replied. It was exactly what Eric Molina had told him.

Of course, she was there too. He wondered if she felt that way or if it was a clever verbal parry to keep from really talking to him. He decided to push her again, since it was going so well.

"Did you ever think about Quickie Mate?" he watched her intently.

She quickly glanced his way. _There was no way he knew, right?_

He watched her jaw tighten and lines appear at the corners of her eyes just beyond the reach of her sunglasses. "You know? On-line dating?" There was a smile in his voice as he toyed with her. A part of him was enjoying making her squirm.

"No," she relied icily, "I don't think about it."

"Hmmm," he twisted the knife. "I wonder…" he teased.

"Don't," she ordered. "Those ridiculous losers can't design a reasonable story for their whereabouts, much less a computer program that finds you the ideal woman."

"Oh," he grinned brimming with guilty but pleasant knowledge. "I already found the ideal woman," he bragged.

"And you bought her a horse," she ribbed him sarcastically. "How's that working out for you?"

"Oh….Jenn's not the ideal woman," he informed her. "Not my ideal anyway. I used to think she was, but she wasn't, she isn't. You wanna know who is?"

"No," she yelped. "I most certainly do not!"

She scrambled for something that would refocus Crews on the case. "What I remember Eric Molina saying was that he didn't kill Tim Chang, he loved him, he wanted to kill him, he tried to kill him, but he didn't kill him."

Crews considered what Molina said and how he'd said it. "What do you think that means?"

"It means….love makes you crazy," she answered crisply.

"So you don't want love?" he asked seeming so innocent, so sincere.

But she knew he was neither innocent nor was he being sincere. He was up to something. Crews never showed his cards. He was far too cagey for that. He seemed open, but he was not. She considered that little nugget of wisdom for a moment.

"Reese?" he sought to bring her back to him from wherever she'd travelled in her mind.

She tried to refocus the conversation on the case because she definitely did not want to trade lists of ideal mate characteristics with Crews. She'd already done that one time too many this week. _God damned down time._ Roman was right; it made her nervous, twitchy. _God, I need to get laid,_ she thought.

She glanced at Crews and noticed him sitting open mouthed in the passenger seat.

"Please tell me I did not say that out loud," she mumbled.

From his look, she knew she had. It shocked him into silence. At least it was good for something. She'd have to remember that for the future.

Charlie stared out the passenger window in mute fantasy.

 _If only_ ….. If only there was a way for him to be Donovan Lewis without her knowing, without her seeing, so he could to talk to her without her knowing it was him. Like a masked bandit from the old movies….his fantasy went sideways as she pulled to a stop outside the dojo.

* * *

"Reese," he called to her from his kneeling position in front of Eric Molina's shrine. "Come meditate with me?" He wiggled his toes in his stocking feet.

"That's okay," she replied. "I think I'll just watch."

"It'll make you happy," he teased.

"It's not gonna make me happy," she replied sing songing his offer back to him. _No way she was getting down on her knees for Charlie Crews._ _Jesus,_ _get your mind out of the gutter girl_ , she thought.

"If it doesn't make you happy, I promise not to say another word to you for the rest of the day. Where else you gonna get an offer like that?" he tempted her with that which he knew she could not refuse.

She sighed, but approached and knelt beside him. He could smell her perfume.

"All right," she sighed, "how do I do this?"

"Look straight ahead," he instructed.

He watched as she tried. He looked back at the photo in the shrine, willing her to see what he had and then looked back to her. He watched her as she saw it. Her eyes narrowed and she crawled forward. He tight ass was inches from him as she grasped the photo and rocked back on her heels.

"See? Happy?" he asked. Then she looked at him and smiled. He knew he was.


End file.
